Donovans 3 - Pearl Cove by Elizabeth Lowell

Author:Elizabeth Lowell
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Northwest, Australia, Pearls, Contemporary, Pacific, Fiction, Romance, Suspense, Adventure Fiction, Thrillers, General, Love Stories
ISBN: 9780380789887
Publisher: Avon
Published: 1999-01-01T23:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

Seattle lay beneath a thick lid of clouds. The moonlight that had kept the airplane company from Hawaii vanished into seamless night. It was seventy degrees colder than Hong Kong. By the time Hannah had gone the twenty feet from the airplane to the car waiting by the apron, she was shivering and wishing for the warmth of the wig she had ripped off and stuffed into the trash as soon as Archer handed her a passport in her own name.

Despite being cold, she was exhilarated. The air was fresh enough to cut into squares and eat like candy. The streets were dark and glistening with what Archer called rain, but what was merely an invigorating mist by Broome’s tropical standards. It reminded her of her early childhood in Maine. She hadn’t known how much she missed the climate until right now.

“Turn the heat up, Amy,” Archer said to the driver. “This one is a hothouse flower.”

“Not too hot,” Hannah said, sliding into the sleek black car. “I like this wake-up-and-conquer-the-world temperature.”

“Right,” he said dryly. “That’s why your teeth are chattering. Heat, Amy.”

“Yessir,” the chauffeur said, and cranked the heat to the max. As she turned to check on traffic, her short silver hair glinted in the airport lights. Like her haircut, her clothes were smart and casually chic—peach silk blouse, unstructured black jacket, black slacks, and low-heeled shoes. The Donovans didn’t require a uniform, but Amy felt that it added a certain panache to her job. Sanity, too. Driving for a canny old entrepreneur and his unpredictable, highly artistic wife called for a level head and unflappable nerves. Amy Crow had both.

“Are The Donovan and Susa at the condo?” Archer asked.

“Yes. There’s a party tomorrow night.”

He thought quickly. They had missed The Donovan’s birthday party, but with so many other Donovans, it was hard to keep track. “Birthday? Anniversary?”

“Well, The Donovan has hopes.” Amy looked in the rearview mirror at the hothouse flower with sun-streaked chestnut hair, dark indigo eyes, and the kind of walk models would kill for. “You’ve never brought a woman home before. He’s celebrating.”

Briefly Archer closed his eyes. He had wondered how The Donovan would deal with explaining Hannah, the widow of his bastard son. Passing her off as Archer’s “friend” would simplify the father’s problems greatly.

And greatly increase the son’s.

“Privacy, please, Amy.”

A glass plate slid into place, dividing the back from the front of the car.

Silently Hannah looked at him. He picked up her chilly hands, kissed them, and slowly rubbed heat back into her fingers.

“Will you mind not mentioning the rest of it until I talk to Dad?” Archer asked.

“You mean Len?”

He nodded. “Just until I find out if Susa knows. After that . . .” He shrugged. “The Donovan is a big boy. He can deal with the past. So can his children.”

“But not your mother?”

He hesitated, then nodded again. “She had surgery two months ago. There were complications. She came back from it, but she hasn’t had the energy to paint yet.

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